


A Lucky Fall

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: "A Lucky Fall" AU of the Desperate Hours AU (D) [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Politics, Brotherly Affection, F/M, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, Secret Marriage, Sibling Love, Spanking, The One Ring - Freeform, Unrequited Love, differing opinions on the one ring, distant father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:36:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One lucky fall changed Boromir's fate, and Faramir's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reads my stories and encourages me to keep writing. 
> 
> Quote:
> 
> Footfalls echo in the memory  
> Down the passage which we did not take  
> Towards the door we never opened into the rose-garden.  
> T.S. Eliot
> 
> Chapter 1: A Lucky Fall
> 
> Chapter Summary: Boromir's planned departure for the Quest is interrupted. 
> 
> "In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. But in the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying:
> 
> 'Seek for the Sword that was broken:  
> In Imladris it dwells;  
> There shall be counsels taken  
> Stronger than Morgul-spells.  
> There shall be shown a token  
> That Doom is near at hand,  
> For Isildur's Bane shall waken,  
> And the Halfling forth shall stand'.”  
>  — The Fellowship of the Ring, "The Council of Elrond"

It was on a chill summer eve that Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor, prepared to make his departure from Minas Tirith. 

The Steward's heir brushed back a lock of blond hair as he stared up into the sky. Autumn had come too early this year. His father and his brother and some other tedious members of Gondor's council had spent the last few weeks worrying over the harvest. The numbers and statistics they had spewed forth to justify their unease had been difficult for Boromir to follow. As long as his armies and their families were fed, Boromir wasn't particularly worried about depletion of the city's long-term food stores. The summer campaign season was over, therefore it was the best time for him to leave. His father was still secretly displeased that Boromir was leaving at all, despite having ordered him to go. His brother, on the other hand, told Boromir that he had nearly left it for too late. 

'If it had been Faramir's choice, he would have left just after Osgiliath, after he first dreamt the dream.' Boromir mused to himself. His younger brother was extremely dedicated to his posting in Ithilien, some might even say overly so, yet he had been willing to abandon that for this will o' the wisp. That alone told Boromir something of how important it must be. When Faramir was initially denied leave to go, the dream came also to Boromir. It was one of his first experiences with such dreams of prophecy, and he now knew why his brother considered this inheritance from their mother to be a mixed blessing. The dream had taken Boromir by force, and he, too, had gone to argue the merits of the journey to his father and Gondor's council. Faramir had been first chosen by the council to undertake this journey to Imladris, both for his greater passion and his lesser status as the second and more replaceable son, a mere Captain to his brother's Captain-General. 

But then their father had come to Boromir, and counseled him to claim the errand for himself. Boromir had obeyed, for his father was his Lord, and beyond that Denethor had intimated that the journey would be dangerous and demanding, and that difficult choices might need to be made at the end. Denethor feared that Faramir would hesitate to seize Isildur's Bane and use it against Sauron, for Faramir ever was loathe to use evil means even to accomplish the most necessary of ends. Faramir, in their father's opinion, was insufficiently ruthless. 

Boromir was the greater warrior, of he and his brother. Of that he had no doubt, and neither did Faramir. Yet Faramir had argued - and argued hard - in favor of his being Gondor's representative to this home of elves, this Imladris. Faramir had, in fact, used every ounce of the considerable cleverness, charm, and stubbornness he possessed, trying to dissuade Boromir from going. That alone was odd. Denethor's fear that the errand was too dangerous for Faramir...well, Boromir was the elder, and his was the choice. If part of the reason for his choice was to protect Faramir, well, that was Boromir's business. And his right, besides. 

As for their father's fear that Faramir would let his natural inclination to take the high road rob Gondor of their only opportunity to prevail against Mordor...

Well, Boromir told himself that was justified, as well. It wasn't Faramir's fault, that was just the way he was. He saw things differently. But both he and Denethor thought it necessary to send someone to Imladris, and when Denethor and Faramir agreed on something, it was always important. Boromir loved his brother, but his obedience was to his father. Faramir had already gotten Boromir to run false troop deployment locations by their father and his staff. Oh, that someone was leaking sensitive information to the enemy, there was no longer any doubt. But that it could be their father or someone on his staff...Boromir didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. 

"Our lord father," Faramir had explained again, "Is not a traitor. But I am afraid that he is trusting someone who is." With their uncle Imrahil standing solemnly behind Faramir, Boromir had felt that he had no choice to agree. But in this, in judging Boromir the stronger, and the more capable of doing whatever was necessary, Denethor was not wrong. And Boromir had to trust that his father was not wrong about what Boromir should do with Isildur's ring. If it even existed, that is. 

The soft sound of his horses whickering drew Boromir back to the present, in a stable on the first level of the White City. Boromir had said his goodbyes already to his father. He had bid his brother farewell and fair journey a few hours earlier, when Faramir left late for Ithilien. Boromir's only companions now were one of his former squires, who was saddling his mounts, and two old friends and fellow captains of Gondor. It was a small farewell party for the Steward's heir, but he didn't want to depart trumpets blaring. Boromir was not entirely convinced that this whole venture would not come to naught in the end but chasing after a fairy story. 

Still, he managed to summon a reassuring smile and clap on the back for his former squire, young Lieutenant-the-Lord Minalcar, heir to the fiefdom of the Green Hills. As Minalcar trotted off, it was Captain Gendarion who spoke. The heir to the Ringlo vale was the most cautious and proper of Boromir's close friends, and he predictably had something doom-and-gloom themed to say. 

'It will be a very dangerous journey, dear friend. One with an uncertain end. How can we even be sure that the elves still live in this place?" Gendarion said 

"You worry too much, Gendan." Boromir replied heartily, meeting the eyes of his slightly older - and taller - friend, Captain Galdoron, over the head of Gendarion. 

"But..."

"But nothing." Boromir sternly commanded, though his eyes twinkled fondly. He had been friends with Gendarion since early childhood, and could remember many happy boyhood hours spent playing soldiers with Gendan whilst their fathers spoke of affairs of state. "I'll be fine. You and the grinning idiot here," at that Boromir gestured towards Lord-the-Captain Galdoron, "Will be the ones hard-pressed, keeping order here." 

"He's entirely right, Gendan." Galdoron agreed with tolerant authority, "Boromir will come home clothed in glory, like he did when he came back from the plains of Rohan. He'll probably come home with new boon companions just as nobly-spirited and highly-ranked as Prince Theodred and Lord Eomer, and strengthened and renewed alliances. Like he always does." 

"And your father will probably make a fortune off of said alliances and the attendant reduced tariffs, like he always does." Boromir volleyed back, lifting his chin in amusement. 

Galdoron shrugged good-naturedly. "Probably. Not that I'll see a copper of it. I'm still disinherited for going army instead of following in his footsteps as a merchant prince." 

Boromir snorted. "As if your father the crusty old Lord Sendar doesn't pay for your armor upgrades and bar tabs anyway. Don't expect me to believe that the elves do that for you, as you always jest." 

A light laugh greeted this sally, as Gendarion relaxed at last. Or at least accepted that he could not change his Captain-General's mind, old friend or no. 

"Perhaps," Gendarion suggested genially, "You should thank the elves on Galdron's behalf, once you meet them." 

"Perhaps I will." Boromir agreed. More seriously, he added, "Do try to keep my brother and my father from one another's throats, will you?" 

Gendarion and Galdoron exchanged a long, resigned look. "We'll try." Gendarion agreed, "Easier said than done though." 

"I'd almost rather go on this mad journey with you." Galdoron added wryly. 

With a last hand clasp and hard embrace for each of his friends, Boromir bid them farewell. He knew that they'd do their best for Gondor, while he was gone. He'd trained them and trained with them, and they were good men, excellent soldiers, confident leaders. Both of them - and Faramir - were more intelligent than Boromir. None of them were as gifted a field commander as Boromir was, but Galdoron, at the least, came close. Boromir knew that he could trust these men, and his brother, and the other promising young officers like Minalcar, to hold Gondor if anyone could. Well, anyone but him, yet both Faramir and Denethor insisted that his errand was more important, as much a flight of fancy as it might otherwise seem. 

Boromir thought again of his brother as he rode out the gates of the White City. He hoped that Faramir would be safe...until his thoughts and his journey were interrupted by a messenger in Citadel garb. One who ran almost under the hooves of his horse. 

"Sweet Valar, you fool!" Boromir snapped, "Does your mother know that you have a death wish?" 

"My pardon, my Lord." The messenger said with a deep bow and a worried mien, "I am sorry to interrupt your journey, but it's your brother." 

"Faramir?" Boromir objected in surprise, "What about him? Speak, man!" 

"He lies wounded in the House of Healing, your Lordship." The messenger spoke hastily, his unwelcome words tumbling like pebbles in a stream. 

Boromir swore, and wheeled his horse around. Pulling the messenger up into the saddle before him, Boromir demanded, "What happened? He should be hours away, by now." 

"His horse took a tumble." The messenger said in a squeak, "He hit his head. I know no more, 'twas his man who sent me for you." 

That news hit Boromir like a sword-thrust to the chest. Faramir's horse stumbling and a knock on the head was unusual, frightening, surely. But that Sergeant Menohtar had sent for Boromir on this of all days...meant that it was serious. And that Faramir was in no condition to object to Boromir's being summoned, for otherwise he surely would have.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faramir fell, but that's not why he had his brother called back. It's not even part of why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My thanks to everyone who reviewed or left kudos! Your support is very much appreciated. 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo." - Spoken by Faramir in "The Two Towers" by J.R.R. Tolkien 
> 
> "But it is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him!" - Spoken by Boromir in "The Fellowship of the Ring" by J.R.R. Tolkien

Boromir rode his horse to the very doors of the House of Healing. In doing so, he garnered a number of strange looks. So great was his worry that he barely even noticed. Besides, the Steward's heir was accustomed to going where he wanted, when he wanted, and in such a manner as he wanted. 

What he wanted most was to find his brother fine and well. Healers and their staff directed him quickly to Faramir's room, which was strangely not in the intense care wing of the building as Boromir would have expected. From within Boromir could hear the sound of his brother's voice, irritated and a little pained. His heart lifted. Perhaps Sergeant Menohtar had been mistaken about the seriousness of his brother's injuries. Boromir would have wanted to have been informed in any case, his planned departure on a perilous quest notwithstanding. Boromir threw the door wide open. 

Faramir stood beside the bed, a vexed expression upon his fair face as he did his best to shoo away the Warden of the House of Healing with a forcibly calm, "My head's fine, Del. Leave it be." But when Boromir entered, Faramir's grey eyes flew to his brother's face. 

Boromir smiled, relieved and irritated at the same time. 

"Fell off your horse, did you, baby brother?" He teased, going to take his own look at Faramir's head. Catching his brother's hand as Faramir lifted it to stop him, Boromir tsked at the lump he found several inches above and behind Faramir's left ear. 

"He should rest here this night, my Lord." The Warden informed Boromir, clearly grateful for his assistance with Faramir. Those who did not know them well might think Faramir the less obstreperous of Finduilas' and Denethor's two sons. Warden Del, however, knew them well enough to know that was not the entire truth of the matter. Faramir could be quite difficult indeed when his mind was set on something. 

"And so he shall." Boromir commanded, with a quelling look for his little brother. 

Faramir's chin jerked up in challenge. The dignity of the gesture was only slightly ruined by the sticky salve clinging to the left side of his bright fox-colored hair. "I'm not staying here, Brom." He said with iron determination, "And neither are you. I only had you summoned back here to talk to you. So we're going to talk." 

Boromir boggled at his brother. The healer sighed in exasperation and said, "Obviously, Lord Faramir is not going to rest until you have eased his mind by conversing with him, my Lord. May I suggest that you do so- your Mother's garden should be quiet and empty this night." 

Faramir left the room so quickly that Boromir found himself playing catch-up, despite his brother's injured state and his own rising temper with his sibling. 

"What in the name of all the Valar is this about, Fara?" He snapped as they reached the relative privacy of the sweet-smelling garden. Faramir just stood there for a moment, his chest heaving as he took deep, calming breaths. Now Boromir was uneasy, heading towards scared again. Faramir was almost never at a loss for words. 

"Father...spoke to you about the ring. Isildur's ring." Faramir said at last, "Before you left tonight, but after I had already gone. He told you to just take it, to bring it back here for him." 

"Only as a last resort!" Boromir replied, shocked. That had been a private conversation. Faramir had not been meant to hear it, nor to hear of it, and Boromir did not have any idea how he had. Still, "I should not have to take it, brother. The ring rightly belongs to Gondor. It is we who face the might of the Enemy, and we who must defeat him. How better than with his own weapon?" 

Faramir took another deep breath, then fell to his knees before Boromir. Kneeling like a supplicant, he pleaded, "Please, brother. Listen to me, I beg of you. If you have ever listened to me in all of your life, then listen to me now, for this is probably the most important thing I will ever ask of you. Do NOT take the ring. Listen to the wisdom of Mithrandir..."

Taken aback by his brother's dramatic and obviously heart-felt gesture, Boromir tried to rally by jesting, "Gandalf? That boring old fossil will be there?" 

Correctly taking Boromir's remark as an attempt to lighten the mood - for both of the brothers knew that Boromir didn't dislike Gandalf that much - Faramir ignored it, and simply continued with his plea, "You cannot defeat evil with evil, Boromir. The ring belongs to Sauron; it is part of him in a way that we cannot properly understand. By taking it, you would make yourself into his own weapon, as he takes you over from within." 

Boromir sighed in fond exasperation, "Faramir...." 

"You do not believe me?" Faramir asked, desperation clear on his fine features. 

Kneeling down beside his brother, Boromir cupped Faramir's face with one calloused hand. "Nay, little brother. Or rather, I believe entirely that you believe what you say." His mouth twisting into a wry, affectionate smile, Boromir patted his brother's cheek, adding, "But we both know that you are not perfect, nor all-knowing. Here I must believe our father, for it is he who is our elder and our Lord besides. In this matter, I think that his wisdom exceeds your own." 

Faramir pushed Boromir violently away from him, and rose to pace the garden in one fluid movement. Boromir fell on his rear, so startled was he by his brother's unusual ferocity. 

"What in Eru's name is WRONG with you tonight, Faramir?" Boromir demanded, confounded and angry. "Did you hit your head harder than you say?" That would explain his brother's bizarre behavior, and the mere possibility took Boromir away from the edge of anger back into concern. He stood, the better to corral and catch his brother should the younger man start to falter. 

"So you think that our father is thinking clearly these days?" Faramir seethed as he paced, "You think that he has not let his all-consuming hatred for Mordor and paranoia about the Enemy's works blind him to the wisdom of what should be done to stop them?" 

"He is not blinded, Faramir. Merely intent." Boromir said as patiently as he could, before commanding, "Now, you will cease this nonsense, and go and lie down as the Master Healer has commanded." 

Faramir waved that order away as if he hadn't even heard it, "Do you deny, then, my brother, that I am important? Not as his son - that is a battle that I have long since given up, and it doesn't matter in the larger scheme of this struggle anyway." 

His heart aching, for much of that was true, Boromir began gently, "Fara, he..."

"I'm not going to debate this with you." Faramir said firmly, although there was pain in his own eyes as he at last stood still again and met Boromir's eyes, "I don't give a damn what he thinks of me." They both knew that wasn't entirely true, but Boromir let it go, now paying careful attention as Faramir continued, "What I am asking you is, do you consider me important to the war? Important as the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and the spies, holding our southern border and bringing back important information on the Enemy's movements and plans?" 

"Of course you are!" Boromir agreed, wondering where in the flames of Mordor his brother was going with this argument. Then Boromir's eyes narrowed into a glare as he realized that Faramir had mentioned one of Boromir's own pet peeves, "About the be-cursed spy network, Faramir, I think..." 

"Goblins take the bloody spy network, Boromir!" Faramir said intently, his eyes snapping with gray fire. "Listen to what I am telling you now, and listen well! I am important to the war effort. No one can take my place easily in Ithilien, or with the spies. No one has the experience, the contacts or the cursed patience. Or even the status - our father may not like it, but I AM his son, and I use that. My being hale and whole and healthy to continue this work is IMPORTANT, Boromir. And our father does not care, about that. He would let me be harmed, even maimed, to silence me and enforce my obedience on the matter of the ring. And THAT...that is not wise. Its not reasonable. He's blind on this one matter, brother, and if you follow his lead, then you'll forfeit any chance we have to win this endless war. Sauron ruling himself here, or ruling through a puppet of you or father - it doesn't matter. Gondor loses either way." 

Boromir's blood ran hot and cold. He didn't honestly hear everything that his brother said after 'harmed,' or rather he heard it, but only absently. "What do you mean, Fara?" He asked quietly, speaking now to reassure himself as much as to question his brother, "After the incident with his treasonous treasurer when you were small, he swore that he would ruin anyone who hurt you like that again." One of Boromir's worst memories was being called back to the citadel by the Wizard to find Faramir battered and bloodied. It hurt their father to even look at his brother. Sometimes Denethor hadn't been careful enough choosing who would be looking after the younger Faramir - but that had stopped. It had to have stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has been reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Faramir and Boromir have what Faramir believes to be the most important conversation of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My thanks to everyone who reviewed or left kudos! Your support is very much appreciated. 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "So time drew on to the War of the Ring, and the sons of Denethor grew to manhood. Boromir, five years the elder, beloved by his father, was like him in face and pride, but in little else. …Faramir the younger was like him in looks but otherwise in mind. He read the hearts of men as shrewdly as his father, but what he read moved him sooner to pity than to scorn. He was gentle in bearing, and a lover of lore and of music, and therefore by many in those days his courage was judged less than his brother’s. But it was not so, except that at he did not seek glory in danger without a purpose. He welcomed Gandalf at such times as he came to the City, and he learned what he could from his wisdom; and in this as in many other matters he displeased his father." - J.R.R. Tolkien, the Appendices
> 
> “Yet between the brothers there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir." - J.R.R. Tolkien, the Appendices 
> 
> Excerpt from Previous Chapter:
> 
> "Boromir's blood ran hot and cold. He didn't honestly hear everything that his brother said after 'harmed,' or rather he heard it, but only absently. "What do you mean, Fara?" He asked quietly, speaking now to reassure himself as much as to question his brother, "After the incident with his treasonous treasurer when you were small, he swore that he would ruin anyone who hurt you like that again." One of Boromir's worst memories was being called back to the citadel by the Wizard to find Faramir battered and bloodied. It hurt their father to even look at his brother. Sometimes Denethor hadn't been careful enough choosing who would be looking after the younger Faramir - but that had stopped. It had to have stopped."

Faramir, meanwhile, was pulling off his tunic. It stuck, and he called for Sergeant Menohtar's aid. A gasp and then a cry of pain from his younger brother - who was NOT a weakling, no matter what their father might say - and the tunic was off. Boromir came to help Faramir and Menohtar with the undershirt. It was stuck fast to Faramir's back, stuck with healing ointments and blood which had leaked through thick bandages. Bandages which the healers must have cursed well known about, but Boromir would deal with them later. Right now he was staring at his brother's bare back, his heart aching. Dark red weals and deeper cuts marked Faramir from shoulder to thighs, as if someone had taken a horsewhip to him. 

Boromir swore, softly but fulsomely, and gently tugged his brother's pants down. The whip had been wielded as low as Faramir's thighs. The bloody stripes across his brother's buttocks looked especially awful, since the entire area was reddened as if Faramir had been soundly strapped before the whip came out. 

"Some of these marks will scar." Faramir said softly, "And..."

"How the blazes were you even riding, Faramir?" Boromir interrupted angrily, his gut going hot and cold with fury and fear. 

"Uncomfortably." Faramir answered wryly. 

Menohtar snorted. A glance from Faramir quieted him. 

"Speak up, Sergeant, if you have something to say." Boromir commanded. 

To Boromir's irritation, Menohtar waited until he'd received a small, reluctant nod from Faramir before answering, "With a not unremarkable amount of pain-killers, my Lord." 

Boromir growled at his unrepentant brother. "Riding drugged to the gills! No wonder you fell off your horse, you careless moron!" 

Faramir shook his head. Menohtar spoke up again, "Captain Faramir was fine, my Lord. His tolerance for those drugs is high, as you know, and they are generally effective for him. His fall tonight was near unavoidable - someone needs to deal with the pests on that section of the Pelennor. Gophers and voles and moles have had free run of the place. Aye, and rabbits too."

Boromir promised himself that someone would. 

Faramir, who had been reading for his shirt with a pained expression, suddenly brightened. His, 'I have an idea' face. "Perhaps some of the older children in the city could be recruited to go after them with slingshots." Faramir suggested, while Boromir repressed an urge to shake his hurting little brother, "Pay them for their time...." Faramir continued to muse, until Boromir brought him up short. 

"Who did this to you?" Boromir demanded sharply. 

The younger man's face hardened. He motioned Sergeant Menohtar away before answering, "Men who were just doing as father told them." Faramir answered shortly. And nothing else that Boromir said or did could get his brother to say more. 

"What happened to the days when you listened to me?" Boromir yelled. The marks on Faramir's back were not just painful. Whoever had inflicted them had been more than cruel, he'd been careless. Riding must have hurt. Fighting would have been excruciating. And drawing a bow of the size that Faramir carried would have been purely torturous. And the bow was Faramir's primary weapon. Boromir felt his blood boil. 

Faramir grinned. "I listen to you still. You're my elder brother and my commander, and I'd die in your service. But I'll tell you when I think that you're wrong. I always have." 

Boromir took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Aye, you have." He said after a moment, "And I'd rather you live."

"That would be my preference, as well. Now help me put my shirt back on, will you?" 

And so Boromir did. 

Faramir would have hated pity. Had always, always hated pity. But it wasn't pity which Boromir felt - it was sheer, towering fury. 

"Calm down, idiot." Faramir said affectionately. And how he could stand there and be blase and calm and jest about what had been done to him, Boromir did not know. And certainly did not like. 

"I will see you cared for, Faramir." Boromir said with quiet intensity, "And then I will go to talk to Father." 

"You can't, Brom." 

"Oh, can't I, foxling?" Boromir replied, fixing his brother with a firm, I-am-the-elder-and-heir-and-you-will-do-as-I-say look. 

"You can't. We can't afford the breach that this would cause between you and Father. We can't afford dissension and confusion at the top, not on the eve of open war. Promise me, Boromir. Promise me that you won't let me be responsible for that." 

Boromir raged, and Boromir wanted to weep, but Boromir promised. It was a cursed awful reason not to protect Faramir, but there was nothing else for it. Faramir was right; their grandfather Adrahil had been right when he'd ordered them to conceal from their uncle Imrahil the full extent of what Faramir's armsmasters had done to his brother in the name of teaching him. Gondor could not afford a breach between the Steward and his heir; between the Steward and the Prince of Dol Amroth. And if Boromir went to see their father right now, there would be a breach. 

"I didn't show you this to anger you, brother. I showed you so that you will remember - Father isn't always right. That he can lose his perspective, and make decisions which are not in Gondor's best interests." Faramir said softly, allowing Boromir to help him reapply the healing unguents and bandages. 

Boromir ended up calling Menohtar back to aid them in getting the shirt back over Faramir's head. Two sets of hands minimized the pain, and Boromir knew that the Sergeant could be trusted. Menohtar's niece had been their aunt-by-marriage, their uncle Prince Imrahil's wife, and both had known the stalwart under officer since they were children. Boromir was not quite as comfortable with treating the man as an equal as Faramir was - left to his own devices, Boromir wondered how his brother even observed separation between the ranks in Ithilien. But whatever Faramir did with the rangers seemed to work, and Boromir was not a Captain-General who believed in micro-managing, or fixing things that weren't broken. 

"To bed with you, little brother." Boromir commanded, as calmly as he could. But very firmly. He had no intention to change his mind, or let Faramir talk him into anything different. So it was in a state of bemusement that Boromir found himself following his brother down through three levels of the city to his beloved Nessanie's townhome. Boromir had already bid his lady farewell, aye, and her son, too. Her son who wasn't Boromir's, but he loved the lad Tavan all the same. The boy had been named for his father, who had been one of Boromir's dearest friends. But again, Boromir had already bid them farewell, 'ere he left to meet his father and saddle his horse. He did not know what else could be said, but Faramir had been adamant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: Thank you for reading! Feedback very welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faramir insists that they visit Boromir's mistress, and Faramir has been making what he sees as the appropriate arrangements for his brother's future happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My thanks to everyone who reviewed or left kudos! Your support is very much appreciated. 
> 
> Chapter 4: A Lucky Fall 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “I think you misunderstand Faramir. He was daunted by his father: not only in the ordinary way of a family with a stern proud father of great force of character, but as a Numenorean before the chief the one surviving Numenorean state. He was motherless and sisterless and had a ‘bossy’ brother. He had been accustomed to giving way and not giving his own opinions air, while retaining a power of command among men, such as a man may obtain who is evidently personally courageous and decisive, but also modest, fair-minded and scrupulously just, and very merciful." - J.R.R. Tolkien, in a letter to a reader. 
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 3: 
> 
> "[I]t was in a state of bemusement that Boromir found himself following his brother down through three levels of the city to his beloved Nessanie's townhome. Boromir had already bid his lady farewell, aye, and her son, too. Her son who wasn't Boromir's, but he loved the lad Tavan all the same. The boy had been named for his father, who had been one of Boromir's dearest friends. But again, Boromir had already bid them farewell, 'ere he left to meet his father and saddle his horse. He did not know what else could be said, but Faramir had been adamant."

Faramir stalked off determinedly in front of Boromir, not waiting for his older brother to catch up, but rather clearly expecting him to follow. This was a different Faramir than Boromir had ever seen. Or, at the least, a Faramir of whom Boromir had only ever seen brief flashes of in the past. 

"He must feel very strongly about whatever he said to you tonight, Lord Boromir." Sergeant Menohtar said in his soft Dol Amroth brogue. "Lord Faramir has always in the past been adamant that NO ONE let you know the severity of the punishments your Lord father allows to be applied to him." 

Boromir gnashed his teeth at the unwelcome confirmation that this hadn't been the first of those incidences. "Oh, I'll have words with Faramir about that, when he's well again." He swore softly. After taking another deep breath to calm himself, Boromir ordered, "Take care of him. Don't let this happen again. Or anything like it." 

Menohtar patted the huge, notched dagger at his side. "Wasn't planning to. Who do you think interrupted before the young fox was completely flayed THIS time? 

Boromir swore loudly. 

Faramir turned around to call back, " Are you coming, brother? Or should I have a tryst with your lady-love by myself?" 

"Why, you cheeky little snot!" Boromir hurried to catch up, set on giving his brother a piece of his mind. But then they were at Nessanie's door, and Faramir was knocking. She came to answer almost immediately, her lustrous dark hair flowing loose over a deep violet dressing gown. Nessanie Saelasiel, she of the rich, honeyed voice, soulful eyes, and adamantine spirit. Boromir called her Nessa. 

"Faramir? Boromir? But I thought that you had already left, both of you!" She exclaimed, ushering them into the small but welcoming entryway of her small but neat home. Nessanie kissed Faramir on the cheek, sister to brother, and embraced him quickly. Boromir had a moment to marvel as Faramir didn't even flinch at the pain that must have caused him. Then Nessa's arms were around him, and he was inhaling her sweet scent. He couldn't quite describe how she smelled, save that it was safe and sensual and steady all at the same time. Sweet Valar, did he love this woman. 

"Good evening, Ness." Faramir said humbly, "We are sorry to wake you. You should go get dressed. You're getting married in an hour." 

At that, Boromir and Nessanie both stared at him. Sergeant Menohtar choked on what might have been an incredulous laugh, before promptly excusing himself. 

"Explain, Faramir." Nessanie said, before Boromir could. And probably more effectively. Boromir's luck at getting Faramir to do anything this night had been markedly poor. 

"There is something that you should tell my brother." Faramir replied, his gray eyes intent upon Nessanie's lovely face. 

Nessanie tilted her head and leveled a very firm maternal look upon Faramir. "I did not want to distract my Lord 'ere he left on this perilous journey." 

"Yes, well," Faramir began, giving Nessanie a faintly apologetic look, "I don't want my niece or nephew to be born a bastard, so I suggest that the two of you work this out. I have a priest coming, and the chief Archivist, and representatives on their way from Nessanie's Lossarnach family, and from Dol Amroth, and Lamedon." 

"Faramir...." Boromir seethed, but his brother moved quickly out of the range of his grasp. Boromir was left alone with the love of his life, the beautiful, strong woman who was apparently now carrying his child. They embraced, and she told him of having only just today become sure. And of how terribly she feared the fate of bearing a child to another dead hero. He kissed her, and sent her up to her room to get dressed. He could not promise to return to her, but he would be cursed as a fool if he did not marry her now. His father would not approve - Nessanie's mother had been a daughter of the old Lord of Lossarnach, but her father had been a humble minstrel. That, and Nessanie was not a virgin, and only a scant few knew that she had been secretly married to her first love, Boromir's friend Tavasond, to whom she had borne her first child several months after Tavasond's death in battle. Another secret marriage must hardly be to Nessa's taste either, but Faramir had been right about one thing at least. No child of Boromir's would be born out of wedlock, not if he could help it. 

Somehow, a messenger arrived at Nessanie's home with elegant clothing for Boromir. The quiet page carried almost exactly those garments from his wardrobe which Boromir would have picked for himself, had he decided, suddenly, one day to get married. 

Faramir began to help him get dressed. Boromir appreciated that it was brave of his brother, since they'd yet to have a real talk about Faramir's high-handedness and unbelievable presumption in all of this. But of course Boromir wanted Faramir at his side. This wasn't what Boromir had envisioned for his wedding, but Nessanie was the right woman, and he supposed that was all that really mattered, for a wedding. His brother was there, and if his father wasn't....well, one couldn't always have everything, Boromir supposed. Even if one was the Steward's heir. 

Faramir wasn't to be his only attendant, that night. Faramir had somehow summoned a cousin of the Lord of Lossarnach, Nessanie's uncle. The heir to the Lord of Lamedon, solemn Angbor, was also present, chatting with the Chief Archivist and the priest. Boromir's own long-time friend Captain Galdoron, to whom he had already bid farewell once that evening, helped Boromir to straighten the green and gold embroidered neck of his second best shirt. 

Faramir had disappeared to go awaken Nessanie's eight-years old son Tavasond, called Tavan. The boy himself appeared a few minutes later, walking down the narrow hallway hand-in-hand with Faramir. How much Faramir had told him, Boromir was not sure. Tavan smiled brightly when he saw Boromir, even as he fought yawns and rubbed sleep from his trusting brown eyes. Boromir paused to ruffle Tavan's tousled black hair in greeting, smiling himself as he saw the child's true excitement and joy at learning of the marriage. Then Galdoron's sister Eirien called from the hallway that Nessanie was ready. 

Boromir should have been wed in the Citadel's Great Hall, near the throne of the Kings. Or perhaps more informally in Merethrond, the Hall of Feasts. Not in this simple drawing room, with its slate fireplace and comfortable but worn furniture. The Citadel should have been decorated with great silk banners of his father's house, not with Tavan's drawings and a painting by Faramir. 

But when Boromir caught sight of her, none of that mattered. Nessanie wore a simple black woolen gown over a shift of fine gray flax linen, but the lines of the dress and Nessa's own loveliness made it look elegant, indeed. The sweet smell of night blooming flowers preceded her. Boromir could see the blossoms woven into her hair, entwined with strands of gray opalescent pearls shining mysteriously in the lamp light. Nessanie was flanked by Lady Eirien, Galdoron's oldest sister, and by Mistress Caladlain, wife of the Master of the Songmakers' guild. Her husband, Guild Master Neithan, and Eirien's soldier husband Brondir, stood with the representatives of Lossarnach, Lamedon, and Dol Amroth, but Boromir barely even noticed their presence. His eyes were set on Nessa. When he returned from this journey and could make her his lady for all to know and see, he would dress her in fine velvet and brocade and silk, the better to set off her graceful dark beauty. 

Boromir took Nessanie's hand before the priest and swore by Eru and the Valar to be her faithful husband. She swore the same. The priest pronounced them man and wife, and then it was done. No one could undo this marriage, not even his father. 

The first thing Boromir did as a married man was to kneel before his new wife's son. 

"I swear that I will be a father to you, Tavan." Boromir promised, as sincere as he had been in his oaths to Nessanie. "You are already as a son to me." The boy was brave, and both bright-spirited and kind-hearted. Any parent would have been glad to claim him, and time had cured Boromir's guilt and fear of being an interloper in the child's life. He'd fallen in love with Nessanie before the death of his good friend who had been her first husband, but he had always conducted himself with all honor. Tavan had been nearly five before he began courting her in truth, and Boromir knew that Faramir had the right of this one, as well. Tavisond would have wanted them all to be happy, and for his son to have a father as well as a mother. 

And Faramir, by the proud, self-contented look of him, knew that well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback always welcomed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boromir hadn't realized that his marriage was also a political coup, or at least a coup in reserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My thanks to everyone who reviewed or left kudos! I can't tell you how much I appreciate the encouragement. 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "It is long since we had any hope. My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing, and our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored." - Spoken by Boromir - J.R.R. Tolkien, Fellowship of the Rings.
> 
> "It is not said that evil arts were ever practised in Gondor, or that the Nameless One was ever named in honour there; and the old wisdom and beauty brought out of the West remained long in the realm of the sons of Elendil the Fair, and they linger there still. Yet even so it was Gondor that brought about its own decay, falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep, who was only banished not destroyed.” “Death was ever present, because the Númenoreans still, as they had in their Old Kingdom, and so lost it, hungered after endless life unchanging. Kings made tombs more splendid than houses of the living and counted old names in the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; in secret chambers withered men compounded strong elixirs, or in high cold towers asked questions of the stars. And the last king of the line of Anárion had no heir.” - Spoken by Faramir in "The Two Towers" - J.R.R. Tolkien

The Rohirrim and other nations viewed the people of Gondor as a grave and solemn folk. However, few of them had ever seen a Gondorian wedding. Even such a secret and impromptu affair as this wedding was a cause for great celebration. There was not much space for dancing in Nessanie's drawing room, but there was enough for the small crowd present. And the music was sublime, of the very highest quality. Master Neithan and Mistress Caladhlain sang and played Nessanie's harp and lute, and Tavan joined them with a flute or just sang in his clear child's voice when he was not dancing himself. 

Boromir danced with his new wife, holding her close and reveling in the miracle of finally, actually being married to the woman he loved. His beloved wife, who was carrying his child. Boromir was as careful with Nessa as if she were made of spun silk, until she teased him and told him not to be. Then he held her more tightly, for he knew - and she knew - that this might be their last meeting 'ere his death. 

Nessanie danced with Tavan, too. Then Faramir joined Boromir in the steps of one of the old Numenorean dances. Leaping and twirling, the dance was meant to be a prayer to Eru and the Valar for love and luck on behalf of the newly married couple. It was traditionally danced by the groom's family, and then in a second, looser iteration, by all the men present as well. Communicating without words, Boromir and Faramir modified the steps of that second dance, slowing them and halving them so that Tavan's youthful nimbleness made up for his lack of training and knowledge. 

After that dance was over, Nessanie and Caladhlain excused themselves to go put Tavan to back to bed. Boromir watched them go up the narrow stairs, his wife and his new step-son. Faramir caught his eyes, and nodded, conveying both his pride and a promise. Faramir's pride in his brother and in Boromir's new family, and Faramir's promise that if Boromir fell, Faramir would protect his woman, and his children. And that should both brothers fall, that Faramir had found them other, powerful protectors. Boromir nodded back, grateful, despite his resolution to have a long talk with Faramir. A long talk about the proper respect and deference that a younger brother owed to his elder brother, even a younger brother as clever, bold and kind as Faramir. 

Nessanie returned, and the dancing resumed. There were also toasts, and conversation with food and drink while the musicians took their rest. During one of the first toasts, Boromir neatly lifted Faramir's goblet of wine out of his hand. 

Before his brother could protest, Boromir whispered loudly into his ear. "You shall not be drinking spirits while you're taking painkillers, brother mine. Even if it weren't for the head wound." Faramir sighed, but obeyed. Nessanie provided bottles of well-watered wine for Faramir, and between the two of them Boromir and his new wife made sure that Faramir only drank from those. 

The fire grew low. Nessanie was in quiet conversation with Lady Eirien, Caladlain, and her Lossarnach cousin. Faramir was making some point with his typical eloquent earnestness, leaning inconspicuously against Nessanie's mantle while he spoke to Lord Angbor of Lamedon and the Chief Archivist. 

Boromir kept a weather eye on his pregnant wife and his younger brother, but finding himself alone with Galdoron, took the opportunity to thank him. "I'll not forget that you stood by me, tonight." Boromir sighed, then added as a caution, "My father won't, either, when he learns of it." 

"I'll stand by you always." Galdoron promised, his mouth twisting into a wry smile as he added, "Or preferably, behind you. But truly, Lord Denethor can't do too much to me. My father might have disowned me, but he won't let your father do anything too dreadful to me. Nay, Boromir, your thanks should be for your brother's Sergeant, and for the Chief Archivist and and the guildsmen - and woman-, for they are risking their livelihoods, at the least. And for your brother." Galdron turned to regard Faramir, and Boromir did as well. 

Boromir shoook his head at the strong and confusing mixture of anger, pride, irritation, surprise, protectiveness, and deep love he felt towards his baby brother just then. "Oh, aye, I'll thank him. Right after we have a long and exacting talk about the respect, consideration, and obedience that a younger brother owes to his elder, and a junior Captain to his Captain-General." 

Galdoron chuckled softly, his gray-blue eyes dancing for a moment at Boromir's aggrieved but affectionate complaint before he turned serious again. "You do realize what your brother has done for you, here tonight, don't you? There is no way that your father can invalidate this marriage, Boromir. Nay, nor even allow it to be undone to satisfy other critics, no matter how powerful. Not when the marriage has been witnessed and blessed by so many important people." 

"What important people?" Boromir replied, not following. So far as he knew, he was the most important person here. He was the Captain-General of Gondor's armies, the Captain of the White Tower, and the Heir to the Steward of Gondor. However, that made his father the Steward, and Denethor had never had any trouble overruling EITHER of his sons, not even Boromir, who was his favorite. 

"Boromir, my friend," Galdoron said with a sigh, shaking his head. "You just haven't been paying attention tonight, have you?" 

"I just got married, Galdron! Small wonder that I wasn't paying attention to anything else." Boromir objected. He didn't allow many people to talk to him as bluntly as Galdoron just had. Few indeed would presume to do so. His father, certainly. His brother, if they were in private. His uncle. And his oldest friends. But Boromir knew he wasn't the smartest man in the room. He might be the bravest and the strongest, and he knew himself to be both loyal and steadfast. And though he was not smart he could be wise. Wise enough to listen to his more clever friends and brother, when they gave him advice. 

Sighing fondly, Galdoron explained, "Your brother has set up an alliance here, tonight. One which could rival even your father, should it need to." 

"What?!" Boromir spluttered. "That's not possible! I just got married, not planned a coup!" 

Galdoron sighed again. "Not a coup, Brom. More like...contingency planning. But think - the four most powerful fiefdoms of Gondor are...."

It irritated Boromir to no end that Galdoron, Gendarion, and to a lesser extent his brother and uncle all, on occasion, still treated him as if he were school boy. And a not particularly bright or dutiful one, at that. Sighing and trying to keep his temper, Boromir gamely recited, "The princedom of Dol Amroth, then the fiefdoms of Lossarnach, Lebennin, and Lamedon, in that order." 

"Aye, exactly so." Galdron nodded, "Nessanie is Lord Forlong of Lossarnach's niece, and he'd like to have supported your marriage to her sooner, but he needs your father's patronage to arm his men. He couldn't have risked it, but now that his favorite cousin has pledged Lossarnach's support in Lord Forlong's name, he cannot in honor refuse to stand behind your marriage. Lamedon - well, Angbor is the heir. He is also a proponent of equalizing the status of commoners in Gondor, which is why he is here. His father will stand by Angbor's pledge." 

"Lebennin will never support Nessa and I," Boromir said bitterly, "Even though Tavan is his grandson. His only grandson, only legitimate heir. And he does know that Ness and Tavasond, even if few others do." 

Galdoron choked on a sip of wine in surprise. Boromir pounded him helpfully on the back. 

"I didn't know that." Galdoron said, once he had his breath back, "But the boy's standing would already have been strong, in lieu of other legitimate heirs. You can use that standing as a threat, Boromir. To keep Lebennin in line. He won't contest your marriage, as much as he'll hate it and rave when it becomes known. He won't dare openly protest, because if he does, you can press for Nessanie's son to become his heir at law, and likely win. And bitter old classist that he is, he'd never stand for that." 

"I...didn't think of that." Boromir replied with growing satisfaction. Satisfaction which was spoiled as he thought of Tavan. "Tavan deserves to inherit Lebennin." Boromir said unhappily, intending to see that his step-son had that opportunity. 

Putting up his hand in a conciliatory gesture, Galdoron cautioned, "And once Tarsten is dead, that may still happen. But until then, you can use it. Aye, and the guilds, and every one of the powers in the kingdom who support the advancement of commoners." 

"Nessanie is the granddaughter of the old Lord of Lossarnach." Boromir objected. He always thought of her as noble, although he would have loved her even if he didn't. Boromir had come to realize that commoners could be just as brave and worthy as those born to the great houses of Gondor. 

"Aye," Galdoron said patiently, "And on her paternal grandfather's side, Nessanie is some twenty generations removed from a princess of Dol Amroth who ran away with a minstrel of her own. Dol Amroth had a commoner princess in your aunt Lorias, and prospered for it. But Gondor has always been more conservative than Dol Amroth. And Nessanie's noble blood doesn't matter to the traditional old guard. Nessanie's commoner father makes her a commoner, to them. And because of that, the guilds will support her and you, rank and file. And my father will, too - that's why my oldest sister Eirien is here. Well, that and she is fond of Nessanie." 

"Not so much of me." Boromir pointed out regretfully. Throughout the evening Lady Eirien had occasionally shown through her actions and expressions, that she thought Nessanie could have done better than Boromir, Lord and Captain-General and Steward's heir though Boromir might be. 

Galdoron laughed again. "Don't take it personally, my friend. And she does like you better than she did." 

Eirien had moved to speak with Faramir. Boromir eyed his annoying younger brother fondly. "And all of this, he arranged for me." 

"For you." Galdoron solemnly agreed, "And for Gondor. To give the Steward's heir a happy marriage and a strong wife, but also to provide an alliance of powers to counterbalance your father, should it be necessary." 

Boromir blinked, confused again. "I beg your pardon?" 

Speaking slowly, Galdoron explained, "An alliance that can be used to protect your marriage to the woman all of Minas Tirith has these past years viewed as your commoner mistress, something which Denethor was dead set against, could also be used to overset him in council, even regarding military matters. The alliance is a tool, to a certain extent. And though it may have escaped your knowledge, your brother will use a tool if he must. No matter what it costs him. And setting you against your father would cost him dear, Boromir. For your sake, mostly, but dear indeed." 

Boromir watched his brother, who was now leaning more heavily on the mantle. Thinking it over, Boromir realized that Faramir was indeed making a power play, or at least setting up the possibility of one. Faramir had never done so before, not without Boromir's aid. Or at least not so overtly. Boromir's eyes flickered to the Chief Archivist and priest. 

"Only Eru knows why they showed up to marry you and witness it." Galdoron commented ruefully, "They've always taken a care to be completely neutral." 

Boromir, thinking about it, was fairly sure that he could guess why they had come. The Chief Archivist had been the Council's last hold out in favor of Faramir going on the Quest instead of Boromir. He'd held out even longer than Faramir, who had conceded when he learned that it was Boromir's own wish to undertake the journey. Faramir had conceded far less gracefully than was his usual wont, particularly in his dealings with his own beloved elder brother, but conced he had. 

The Chief Archivist and the priest of Eru would be the most likely to know what had been written about the nature of Isildur's ring. And that they had supported Faramir then, and that they still supported him now...even Boromir could understand the meaning of that. If Boromir chose to do as Faramir urged and leave the ring be instead of taking it for Gondor, then Faramir's alliance would protect Boromir and his decision from Denethor's wrath. Protect Boromir, and his wife, and his infant heir-to-be. 

Just then, Faramir began to falter. Boromir abruptly left Galdoron to go to his brother's side. He caught Faramir's upper arms in a firm grip just as his brother's knees buckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a review if you are so inclined! I would love to hear from you. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faramir was riding for a fall. Perhaps the only surprise was that it took him so long to falter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Due to some references to corporal punishment, I'm splitting this story into two versions starting with this chapter. Please read the gen version if that will bother you, thanks! 
> 
> And thanks to everyone who has offered kudos or encouraged me to continue with this story. It is much appreciated. 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “Yet between the brothers there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir. No jealousy or rivalry had arisen between them since, for their father’s favour or for the praise of men. - J.R.R. Tolkien, the Appendices 
> 
> Excerpt from previous chapter: 
> 
> "The Chief Archivist and the priest of Eru would be the most likely to know what had been written about the nature of Isildur's ring. And that they had supported Faramir then, and that they still supported him now...even Boromir could understand the meaning of that. If Boromir chose to do as Faramir urged and leave the ring be instead of taking it for Gondor, then Faramir's alliance would protect Boromir and his decision from Denethor's wrath. Protect Boromir, and his wife, and his infant heir-to-be. 
> 
> Just then, Faramir began to falter. Boromir abruptly left Galdoron to go to his brother's side. He caught Faramir's upper arms in a firm grip just as his brother's knees buckled."

Faramir 's breathing was rapid and his eyes were clouded with pain and exhaustion. 

"Finally pushed yourself too far, did you, Fara?" Boromir scolded gently, making sure to take most of his brother's weight. 

The young ranger captain swallowed and then nodded. "Please, Brom, just get me out of here." Faramir pleaded, "Don't let anyone see..." 

Boromir sighed in exasperation, but he did as Faramir asked. Pasting a jovial smile on his face, Boromir proclaimed with loud geniality that Faramir had just been doing his duty as the brother of the bridegroom, getting drunk to celebrate Boromir's wedding. Then Boromir let his new wife smooth things over with their guests and bring the night to an end while he led Faramir to Nessa's spare bedroom. Boromir bent his knees a little bit as he helped his brother walk away, putting his shoulder under one of Faramir's arms while doing his best to keep any pressure off of Faramir's sore back. 

Sergeant Menohtar came and supported Faramir on the other side. Boromir nodded and grunted his thanks. Between the two of them, they managed to get Faramir out of the drawing room and into the hallway without giving away that he was suffering from anything more serious than mild inebriation. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, Faramir drooped a bit more. Boromir bit back a curse. He hated to have his brother be in pain. He always had hated it. 

"Hold my idiot brother up for a moment, will you?" Boromir directed Menohtar. 

"What?" Faramir asked, dazed, as Menohtar moved unquestioningly to obey. "Wait, Brom, don't!" Faramir objected, as he realized what his brother was planning to do. "Do not pick me up! I'm not a child anymore!" Faramir protested. Ignoring him, Boromir bent down and lifted his brother gently over one broad shoulder. Boromir was built like their father, tall and broad and strong. Faramir, on the other hand, resembled their wiry great-grandfather Angelimir. 

"I hate it when you do this." Faramir muttered unhappily. 

Resisting the urge to smack his brother's backside only because he knew that Faramir was already in such poor shape, Boromir carried him up to the edge of the guest bed. He set Faramir carefully back onto his feet beside the bed, with its home-made quilt of dark blue and light blue squares. 

"I'm fine, really I am." Faramir gasped, clearly lying, or at the least deluding himself. "I just need a moment to catch my breath." 

"You....you..." Boromir spluttered, trying to think of a way to adequately describe what he thought his younger brother really needed. A keeper, certainly. A lecture firm enough and a spanking sound enough to teach him not to keep such mistreatment a secret, ever again. A lesson in not manipulating others without consulting them, even if it was to their benefit. 

"Boromir?" Nessanie inquired worriedly from the door. 

"I need you to keep my - our - moronic younger brother here at your house a few days, so that he may rest and heal." Boromir explained to his wife, as he and Menohtar coerced Faramir into lying down on the bed, being meticulously careful of his injuries. 

"I'm FINE ENOUGH, Brom, really I am!" Faramir disputed with as much fire as he could. He still sounded fairly weak, which Boromir did not hesitate to point out as caustically as possible. Menhotar snapped at Boromir with a towel he'd fetched from Nessanie's linen closet. 

"Hush, my love." Nessanie reproached Boromir gently as she assessed Faramir's condition. He blushed, and mumbled something about impropriety. 

"I'm your sister now, and I've seen you bare before." Nessanie rebutted him firmly. Boromir gave her a relieved half-smile. He didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't had Nessa to entrust Faramir to during some of his brother's previous recoveries, and now this one. 

"We should cut off his tunic and shirt." Nessa recommended, her eyes full of compassion for Faramir. "Saving the cloth isn't worth putting him through the agony of pulling it off of him." 

"Did you know of this?" Boromir snapped at her, meaning Faramir's mistreatment at the hands of his father's men. 

Surprised, her eyes flew to him. "Know of what?" She asked, innocent and hurt. "Faramir is lying down as if his back pains him, and some blood has leaked through the silver embroidery, just there on his shoulder." 

"Oh." Replied Boromir lamely. "I'm sorry, I...it just came as a shock." And a betrayal, that his brother had been so abused, and hadn't said anything. That his father had known, had left Faramir to such harm, and not stopped it before it went beyond chastisement and far into cruelty.

Nessanie wrinkled her nose, "What came as a...Oh, never mind." She handed Menohtar a pair of scissors. "I knew nothing, other than that our Faramir was in pain. I thought it was from hitting his head - I heard of that from you, earlier. If I'd known that Faramir was feeling this poorly, I would have found some excuse to send him to bed hours ago." 

Boromir caught her hand and kissed it. "I do adore you." He told her, while Faramir protested unintelligibly. Nessanie cupped a hand around Boromir's cheek and kissed him, before turning her attention to Faramir. She stroked his red-gold hair to soothe him as Menohtar carefully slit the back of Faramir's tunic and undershirt. 

"Go fetch us some water, if you will, my Lady." The sergeant asked. Nessanie looked around to see whom he was addressing, before realizing that 'my Lady' was her, now. Her lips pursed, and Boromir knew that she would have argued the point and asked Menohtar to just use her name, but that she didn't want to prolong Faramir's discomfort for anything so inconsequential. 

Boromir and Menohtar spent a tense twenty or thirty minutes sponging and removing the cloth and bandages from Faramir's abused back and rear, while Nessanie went back and forth for healing ointments and teas. She also found one of Boromir's older, more comfortable sleeping tunics for Faramir to wear whenever he awoke from the full night's sleep both Boromir and Nessa were determined that he have. Nessanie's coal-dark eyes glittered in temper and outrage, and Boromir knew that he would have to explain the whole mess before he left her in the early morning. It was all to the best, in Boromir's opinion. Nessa would not be able to protect Faramir from the Steward and those to whom he delegated his authority, not yet. But Faramir had few defenses against the care and concern of a woman he loved who only sought to keep him safe and well, so he would listen when she asked him to rest. Boromir grumbled to himself as he reflected that Faramir had developed entirely too many defenses to the care and concern of his elder brother. 

After Faramir had been made as comfortable as possible, Menohtar and Nessanie left. Boromir stayed for awhile, holding his brother's hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers have another heart-to-heart talk, their last chance to do so before Boromir leaves on the quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading! 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> "It did not seem possible to Faramir that any one in Gondor could rival Boromir, heir of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower; and of like mind was Boromir.” - J.R.R. Tolkien, the appendices. 
> 
> "When Boromir made his great journey from Gondor to Rivendell __the courage and hardihood required is not fully recognized in the narrative. The North-South Road no longer existed except for the crumbling remains of the causeways, by which a hazardous approach to Tharbad might be achieved, only to find ruins on dwindling mounds, and a dangerous ford formed by the ruins of the bridge, impassable if the river had not there been slow and shallow - but wide." - History of Galadriel and Celeborn” - The Unfinished Tales - J.R.R. Tolkien
> 
> Excerpt from previous chapter: 
> 
> "After Faramir had been made as comfortable as possible, Menohtar and Nessanie left. Boromir stayed for awhile, holding his brother's hand."

"Father never would have approved of Ness as a wife for me." Boromir said softly into the quiet darkness. "And for much less offense, he ordered you punished harshly cruel." 

"I'm sorry." Faramir whispered. "For telling you about that like I did, in a poor manner and at a worse time. And for..."

Boromir snorted, "For that stunt with Nessa? As well you by-Varda should be sorry. A man doesn't want his baby brother to propose to his wife for him, and with but an hour's notice between betrothal and wedding! For shame, Faramir!" 

"Yes, I know, but there was no time...." Faramir apologized again, "You were to have left already, and you couldn't leave. Not without making this right, with Nessa." 

"Yes, I know." 

The brothers sat in stillness for a few moments, each preoccupied with his own thoughts. Boromir was thinking of how Faramir had been willing to tell him of their father's thoughtless cruelties on the eve of Boromir's departure, despite the pain that he had known it would cause Boromir. And he thought, too, of Faramir's setting up an alliance of powerful men and women loyal to Boromir and Nessanie, to counterbalance Denethor's influence. Despite how dangerous that was, and despite how much a rift between the brothers and their father would hurt Boromir. 

Boromir thought also of Faramir's leadership in Ithilien. Of the deceptive tactics that the rangers used to defend Gondor's hostile southern border under Faramir's command, despite Faramir's dislike of them. Of the mass ambushes of orcs and Southron enemies after luring them into box canyons and ravines, and then their systematic slaughter, down to the last man, oliphaunt, and donkey. Then there was the spy network, with its myriad of deceptions upon deceptions. Faramir hated all of that, yet he had been the author of much of it. Gondor had needed information, and Faramir had begged, borrowed, stolen and lied to get it. Faramir hated to lie, to deceive. But he would do it, if he felt the cause was necessary. 

Boromir sighed deeply as he realized that it was not true, anymore, that Faramir lacked ruthlessness. It had not been true for some time. If Boromir, who did not see men so clearly as his father or brother, knew that - well, at least now that he had been so forcefully reminded of it - then surely, surely, Denethor must know it too. 

So, their father had lied. Or had at least allowed himself to believe a lie. Had told Boromir a lie. 

If Denethor had lied - or at least had allowed himself to have been deceived - about Faramir's nature and abilities, then what ELSE might their father have lied about, what other important matters might he see falsely? Could the ring's true nature be one of them? 

Boromir hadn't changed his mind about taking the ring as his father commanded. And Faramir didn't ask him to change his mind again. But the doubt had been planted in Boromir's mind. Faramir had achieved that much, at least. 

"I will truly think, on what you have shown me this night." Boromir vowed solemnly into the quiet, friendly darkness. 

Faramir just squeezed his hand in answer. After a moment, his voice rough with exhaustion, Faramir added, "Please be careful on your quest, my brother. Come back to us alive. I love you." 

"I love you too, my cheeky baby brother. And of course I will live - I must, so as to come back and give you a proper thrashing for your foolishness of this past day and week." With that, Boromir swatted Faramir's cheek, very gently. In the darkness, he could not see his brother blush, but he was sure of it nonetheless. Still, Faramir offered no other apology for hiding this apparently ongoing abuse from his brother and commander. Boromir clenched his teeth, trying to stay calm. 

"You broke a promise to Mama, foxling." Boromir scolded Faramir, "Not to lie to me. You've broken that promise at least twice before, so well you know that 'not telling' is as bad as lying to me about something like this. I thought that I was remarkably clear about that." 

"I'm sorry." Faramir's voice broke a bit, on that. Their mother was an emotional subject for both brothers, and the promise Boromir spoke of had been one that Faramir had made on Finduilas death-bed, at her explicit request. 

"I know." Boromir said kindly. "And you will be sorrier yet, when I come home. We are going to sit down, you and I and Uncle Imrahil, and have a long talk with you about these beatings you have been hiding from us." 

It was Faramir's turn to swear softly. Either Boromir or Imrahil alone, Faramir would have some chance of holding information back. But the two of them together, well, past precedent suggested that they could get him to tell them near everything they wanted to know. 

"I'll make you an offer instead." Faramir said hoarsely, "If you come back home to us, if you come back to us as yourself, I will tell you then." 

That was entirely Boromir's plan. "You promise?" 

"My word of honor upon it." Faramir swore solemnly. Boromir leaned forward and kissed his brother's brow in thanks. 

For a little while a comfortable silence reigned again, until Boromir brought up a thought which had just begun to bother him. 

"If you're so set against my taking Isildur's ring - assuming the folk in this semi-mythical Rivendell even have it, of course - why didn't you just manufacture some crisis in the army's First Company, and then leave on the quest yourself, in my place?" Boromir asked his brother. 

The sheet and thin, soft blanket covering Faramir rustled as he turned a bit more to face Boromir. "To be honest, Brom, I did consider doing just that. I even had several different plans for how I might make you stay, or even have the council ask you to stay, so that I could go." 

"Remind me, later, that you've grown into a dangerously effective man. I forget that, sometimes, when I really shouldn't." Boromir commented sardonically. 

Boromir could see his brother's white teeth flash in a cheeky little half-smile as Faramir expressed his unspoken agreement. 

After patting his brother on the head - which Boromir knew full well that Faramir hated - he asked, "So, baby brother, why didn't you do just that, since you feel as strongly about this as you do?" 

Taking a deep breath, Faramir explained, "I didn't because I believe in you. I believe that you'll make the right decision, whatever it is. I trust you to do that, and to be the best, bravest, strongest, and truest man that Gondor could send on this perilous quest. There was a reason that the dream came to you as well as to me, Boromir. You are the first man of Gondor, and I believe that you will represent us well, better than any other could. I believe that you can help lead us to salvation, to victory, to a future." 

There was silence in the room for a few moments as Boromir's heart swelled with the reaffirmed knowledge of his brother's faith in him. Faramir had always had that belief in Boromir. It was part of what inspired Boromir to always do his best. Faith and trust as strong and pure as Faramir's were humbling. They made Boromir want to be the man that his brother saw him to be. 

His father's faith, on the other hand, was that Boromir would do as he had been told. Denethor, in short, trusted Boromir to do as he had been ordered. Faramir trusted his brother to do the right thing. Now if only they thought that was the SAME thing, then Boromir's life would become considerably simpler. 

But that was all beyond this day's concern. "Faramir," his elder brother began intently, "You should know that you are the best of brothers, as well. I could not ask for a better little brother than you." Faramir squeezed his hand, and Boromir smiled. Then he turned stern as he admonished, "Be careful yourself. Oh, be careful in Ithilien, my brother. Take no unneeded chances in these dark dangerous days! Remember that I would be lost should you die. I must be Steward some day, pray Eru that it be far in the future, and I cannot even contemplate ruling as Steward without you by my side. 

Clearly moved, Faramir pledged in a breathy voice, "I'll do my best." 

That was not particularly reassuring to Boromir, but it was the best that Faramir had to give, so it would have to be enough. Boromir embraced his brother gently but fiercely, and then left Faramir to his sleep. 

Boromir got to spend the first night with his wife, and hopefully not his last, but he was still up long before the sun. He was not up alone - Nessanie, Faramir, and Menohtar had gathered to bid him farewell yet a third time. Tavan, awoken by the noise, was there too. Boromir teased them, but Menohtar said, "Three is a lucky number, my Lord. Three partings, an elven spell to bring you safely back home." 

Faramir and Boromir both shook their heads at that. 

"More like a sailor's superstition." Boromir teased, at the same time as Faramir commented, "I don't think that elves work that way, Sergeant." 

With a final embrace for his uncle-by-marriage, his brother and his step-son, and a final kiss from his new bride, a thoughtful Boromir at last left Minas Tirith to journey to Imladris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter in Gondor, afterwards I'll be skipping the story forward to when the fellowship is in Lothlorien. There will hopefully be four or so chapters set during the Quest before we get back to Boromir, Faramir and Aragorn after the Battle of the Pelennor.


End file.
